


Who are we really?

by that_gay



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5th grade teacher Lance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Cafe Worker Keith, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I don’t know what I’m doing someone send help, Identity Porn, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Past Criminal Keith, Roughhousing, Secret Identity Fail, Teacher Lance (Voltron), Trans Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Trans Keith (Voltron), Vigilante Lance (Voltron), incorrect descriptions of the American justice system, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_gay/pseuds/that_gay
Summary: Keith never wanted to be the designated first-aid guy for the city’s vigilantes but there he was. Patching up a stranger on his bathroom floor like it was any other Tuesday night.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Kudos: 15





	Who are we really?

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I’m doing, I have yet to actually watch Voltron bc I decided that this is just space zukka and I’ve been told to not get into this fandom but fuck that.
> 
> Characters will most probably be occ till I get the time to watch it and edit, but till then... ur getting fanfic Klance
> 
> Pidge’s pronouns are she/they in this fic. I have no clue how America works or the justice system there so let’s just put any and all incorrect info I put into this bad boy to be bc of that.
> 
> Tw: graphic description of blood

Keith didn’t know how it started, but it did. One time he applied to work at the local bookshop cafe and the next he was getting dragged into helping to patch up local vigilantes like it was nobody’s business. 

It wasn’t even his fault. He didn’t meddle with his co-workers business even when they tried to get him to open up. He stayed as far away from them as it was humanly possible when he was tasked with helping one of them out with inventory or asked to help behind the counter when the shop was busy. Keith didn’t ask stupid questions when he got tasked with locking up or having to get there earlier than usual because the produce delivery would be coming in. He was paid enough to keep his mouth shut when there was an ungodly amount of medical supplies and spandex costumes badly hidden in one of the supply closets. After all, it wasn’t his business when dried up blood sometimes appeared on the floor as long as it wasn’t his he had no reason to complain.

He was getting paid far over minimum wage and had been promoted to manager after his first six months at the job, he wasn’t forced to do unpaid overtime, none of his coworkers tried recruiting him into a gang or the mafia and he somehow got the job even with his criminal record. It really wasn’t his place to point out the unlocked second floor window where most of the blood appeared in the morning. He just cleaned it up. Ignoring whatever was going on was far better than having to work two full time jobs on top of his community work anyway. By now he was one of the only two people that hadn’t quit after the third pay cheque due to the fishy shit that was happening with no clear legal explanation.

Keith had been working at the bookstore cafe for three months when he first met one of the co-owners. Coffee thermos in hand he went through the back door of the shop as his headphones blasted That’s Okay by The Hush Sound which had been put on loop since the moment he got out of his apartment. The door had been unlocked when he opened it which wasn’t uncommon but it made him irateble knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d have to deal with his co-workers before he chugged down his seven shots of espresso. 

Closing the door behind him he paused his music and slid his headphones to rest on the back of his neck in case someone decided to try and have small talk with him. He was taking his jacket off when he heard a loud crash coming from the back room. Keith grimaced. He really didn’t want to deal with this, it was too early in the morning to see if ghosts were real or if a stray cat decided to eat the drying ham that was to be smoked on the weekend by the owners that he only knew through emails. Putting his jacket and messenger bag on his coat rack he wandered further into the back of the shop to see where the crash had come from.

There were curses coming from the inventory room when he neared it. He eyed the door suspiciously before letting his eyes wander to his thermos and back again. He was too tired to deal with this shit. He sighed and opened the thermos to chug the thing in one go as he grimaced at the bitter burn on his tongue. The curses behind the door had stopped by the time he chugged the whole thing down. Keith swung the door open as he gripped his Lighting McQueen thermos like a bat above his head. Bulgerers be damned he wasn’t going to let himself get his cheque cut because of this.

The metal door slammed into the wall with a bang, someone screamed bloody murder as Keith took the room in, one foot before the other reading himself for a fistfight if worst came to worst. He wasn’t going down today thank you very much.

With another crash from further behind some boxes Keith heard a groan. He did a quick check over the room to see what was out of place before carefully stepping into the room. Boxes that once were stacked neatly on top of each other in the middle of the room were now in a disarray while some of the ones stacked by the wall had dents in them. Seeing bloody fingertips on cardboard wasn’t great either when there was a possibility that it soaked through the box and onto the books inside. 

_“Owww.”_ Came from behind the disarrayed boxes on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Keith lowered his thermos, cautiously making his way around the boxes that protected the bulgrar like some shity attempt of a barrier.

There was a man getting up from the ground with blood on the lower side of his face and hand. His nose looked broken as he tried to get the blood to stop oozing from his nose, his ginger mustache crusty with dried blood as more blood came from his nostrils. Keith grimaced at him. He wouldn’t be able to explain the blood on the boxes if he doesn’t find some stickers to cover it. 

“Why are you trying to rob a cafe?” Keith asked. The dude was lanky and while he looked taller than Keith even on the ground Keith was positive he could take the ginger guy no problem.

“What? This is my shop? Who are you?” The guy squinted at him as he slowly got up. _Yep, definitely taller than Keith._

“I work here.” He glared up at him.

“ _Well,_ I’m the owner.” He wiped some blood off of his nose. “Coran by the way.” He smiled with bloody teeth. Keith did another once over at his supposed boss of all things. It looked like he was wearing a competitive ice skating costume with all the glittery frills attached to the tight material he was wearing. _Maybe, just maybe he wasn’t getting paid enough for this_. The job still paid enough for him to keep his mouth shut so ignoring everything wrong and out of place it seemed like the best option.

“Keith.” He gripped his thermos tightly instead of doing something stupid like punching something due to the insanity of this situation.

.

_“Keith!”_ Pidge whined from the community shelter’s kitchen.

“What do you want?” He called as he walked back in with more dish soap as the one in the kitchen was running out. Keith had another few months left of community service before his sentence was properly served and he would finally be free of court dates and parole officers getting in his business for good if he behaved well enough. Pidge on the other hand only hand one more week left of community service left. They already celebrated her release but that also meant she demanded special treatment from him due to being his closest friend since he came to help out at the shelter which he wasn’t too mad about.

“We’re going to go to a cafe to celebrate my last day on Saturday or I won’t store your spray paints in my apartment after my parole till yours is over.” They grinned evilly at him as they stood on a stool, elbows deep in the kitchen sink. 

“That’s blackmail Pidge. Tell me again why we’re friends?” He glared at them rolling up his flannel up to his elbow to help her with the dishes as other people came and went through the dishwashing zone of the kitchen.

“Because _I_ forced you to be.” Came their reply as Pidge slapped foam on his face.

_“You didn’t.”_

“I fucking did. What are you going to do? Scared?”

Foam came with a hard slap to her face. 

_“You're on.”_

.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos, bookmarks and comments are very much appreciated.


End file.
